


Hydrangeas

by starryeyedboxes



Category: Septiplier - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-26 03:42:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4988902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starryeyedboxes/pseuds/starryeyedboxes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark always knew Jack never failed to kill the flowers he brought home. Yet, he still came back with more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hydrangeas

**Author's Note:**

> So, I believe that this is my first babble? I legitimately just opened the doc and wrote without anything in mind. This is the result. Kind of random, I suppose. 
> 
> Originally Posted: June 28th, 2015.

Mark squinted underneath the harsh sunlight, holding his hand up to block the demanding rays. As he shielded himself, his feet carried him down the stoned pathway, and he counted each one as he stepped on them. Clenching his hand over the glass vase, he ran his thumb over the pottery, a small smile on his face.

It was his three year anniversary with his boyfriend, and he was more than happy to sneak a trip during his lunch to visit the young man. Mark even brought a small little gift with him: a wonderful arrangement of white and purple hydrangeas, the soothing colors as lovely as he remembered. Jack was never a man who was particularly fond of flowers; he always said that whatever plant he touched would ultimately die. Mark used to buy hydrangeas for their kitchen despite how much his boyfriend said they were ugly and laugh when the other man would scold him, demanding that he wouldn’t be responsible for the plants.

However, Mark always caught small glimpses of his lover guiltily replacing the water or moving them over slightly so the sun would reach them. But Jack was right. They always died.

It never bothered Mark, however. Although, he stopped buying them months ago, this time around, he thought that it would be a humorous gift to bring as a surprise. He secretly adored the way Jack would discreetly sneak glances at the vase, quickly checking up to see if they were healthy, then looking around to make sure Mark hadn’t seen it. It was one of his favorite sights.

When the black-haired man reached his door, he pulled out his keys, listening to them jingle slightly, and pressed it into the lock. As he tried turning the key, something quickly dawned on him. The knob wasn’t moving. His key wasn’t working.

Wondering what was going on, he simply pressed his ear against the door, listening to see if Jack was inside. When he heard nothing, he rapped his knuckles on the door. A few moments passed but yet again, there was no response.

After Mark jiggled his keys again, he pulled them back out and began walking towards his backyard. Lifting the lock on their wooden gate, Mark slipped behind it and continued through the freshly mowed grass.

Not even bothering to use his keys, he turned the doorknob knowing that Jack probably forgot to lock it like always. No matter how many times Mark reminded him that everything needed to be locked up, his boyfriend often forgot this door in particular for he rarely ever used it. Mark was the only one who really did.

His footsteps pressed on the hardwood floor, his hand gripping onto the black vase even tighter. There was an uneasy feeling as he called out for his lover, receiving nothing but silence in return. Jack always excitedly ran to meet him downstairs, but there was no boyfriend this time. Mark didn’t know where he was, he would’ve normally called if he were leaving. They often had a little thing where they would call each other whenever they were in the car. It gave them both something to listen to whenever it was time to go behind the wheel, and even if one of them were unable to answer, a phone call would be shot towards the other’s direction just in case.

But there was no phone call this time.

Still holding the hydrangeas, Mark headed upstairs in a rush, skipping a step in between each climb. When he pressed their bedroom door open, a rush immediately ran through his veins, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck in confusion.

The bedroom was practically stripped bare. Aside from Mark’s clothes on the floor and a few of his items on the dresser, the rest of the room was barren, Jack’s items missing completely. His hands pulled open a few of the drawers and saw them cleaned, the bathroom missing the second toothbrush, and the shoes in the closet missing.

Mark’s head began swirling, his mind finally catching up with the situation at hand. As he clumsily sat down on the bed, he felt an odd item from beneath him. Anxious, he grabbed what he had rested on with shaky fingers, his lungs already beginning to burn from the despair.

The item was an envelope. Ripping off the top of it, he pulled out a metal key, instantly recognizing it.

It was Jack’s key.

He couldn’t really remember what happened next. But all he knew was that by the end of it, the room featured knocked down furniture, miscellaneous items strewn across the wooden floor, but more importantly, a sobbing Mark on the ground surrounded by fallen purple and white streaks, the hydrangeas he once loved circling his shaking body.


End file.
